Put It On My Heart
by angellwings
Summary: [lyatt] [one shot] [post 2.12] Things feel...normal. She missed normal. It's nice to have normal back after so much time spent on the science fiction-noir-conspiracy theory train. Her life is starting to feel like her own for the first time in years. Since even before she was aware of time travel.


**A/N: **Yet another prompt game one shot. This one gets smutty, just a warning. As usual, see the end note for the prompts. This one is a little shorter than I expected but I think it packs a punch.

Hopefully you guys like it!

Happy reading!

Angellwings

* * *

Put It On My Heart

By angellwings

* * *

"Kiss the tears right off your face,

Won't get scared,

that's the old, old, old me.

I'll be there, time and place,

Lay it on me, all you're hold, hold, holding.

Time, time only heals if we work through it now,

And I promise we'll figure this out.

I will take your pain,

And put it on my heart.

I won't hesitate,

Just tell me where to start.

I thank the oceans for giving me you.

You saved me once and now I'll save you too.

I won't hesitate for you."

-"Hesitate" by the Jonas Brothers

* * *

"A fairytale with a happy ending always brings a smile to my face."

Lucy rolls her eyes and idly twirls her wine glass. "Wyatt and I are hardly a fairy tale."

"Says you," Rufus fires back. She almost expects him to stick out his tongue. "I mean, come on, you were the feisty princess who challenged the tyrant crowned leader. He was the jaded guilt ridden knight assigned to protect you. And there was me your plucky comic relief. You fall in love but, wouldn't you know it, the Ice Queen and the Seductress get in your way and tragically separate you. Only for you to reunite, vanquish the villains, and…"

His sentence trails off expectantly but Lucy refuses to humor him. For starters, happily ever after isn't anywhere close to happening yet. It's been two months since they left the bunker. Moving in together hardly indicates "ever after".

Not that she's bothered by that in any way. On the contrary, being able to slow things down, even a little bit, with Wyatt has been wonderful.

Things feel...normal. She missed normal. It's nice to have normal back after so much time spent on the science fiction-noir-conspiracy theory train. Her life is starting to feel like her own for the first time in _years_. Since even before she was aware of time travel.

She can't pretend it's not hard. Saying goodbye to Amy, thinking she could have done more for Flynn, dealing with all the "condolences" for her mother. It's very hard, but with Wyatt proving himself to be more steadfast than she ever imagined she's making it through.

One problem at a time.

"And what?" Wyatt asks as he slips into the booth next to her with her his own drink.

He'd gotten everyone else's drinks first and then gone back for his own, ever the gentleman.

"Rufus wants me to agree that you and I are a real life fairy tale," Lucy answers with a quirked brow and a smirk.

Wyatt's face scrunches in disgust. "What? Like with damsels in distress and and white knights and wizards and all that shit?"

"All that shit," Lucy replies with a nod and an amused grin.

"You really thought Lucy would be down for you to compare her to a damsel? Rufus, dude, seriously?" Wyatt asks as he slips an arm around her waist. "Also, let me guess, you made yourself the squire or the jester or something else equally dumb?" When no one corrects that assumption he barrells through Rufus's attempt to speak. "And we all know _that_ is far from accurate."

Lucy and Jiya nod their agreement but otherwise remain silent.

"I said princess not damsel. There's a difference," Rufus clarifies with a huff.

The fact that he says nothing about _himself_ causes them all to collectively roll their eyes.

"Give it up, Carlin," Jiya says with a snorting chuckle. "They're not ready for the H-E-A just yet. I can't really say I blame them."

"Okay, but when the day comes that I'm asked to give the Best Man toast—" he cuts himself off to give Wyatt a concerned glance. "I am gonna be the best man, right?"

"Not if you keep asking me," Wyatt replies with a teasing smirk.

"Fine, let me say one last thing and I'll shut up—"

Lucy's eyes widened with exaggerated surprise. "What? You mean you can do that?"

Wyatt chuckles but Rufus ignores her.

"When the day comes that I'm asked to give the Best Man toast, we're revisiting this fairy tale analogy."

"You really didn't describe a fairytale though, did you? The tale you told was more Arthurian than Grimm," Lucy tells him with a haughty lift of her chin.

"Can the part of the evening where you all pick on Rufus be over?" Rufus asks, trying to sound put out rather than amused.

"Is that part of the evening ever over?" Wyatt asks.

"Ha, you're funny," Rufus says dryly.

Thunder rumbles above them and suddenly their attention is drawn to the windows on the far end of the restaurant. It's been raining steadily for days now, pretty common for this time of year, but thunder is not something they get much in The Bay Area.

"Hey," Jiya says brightly. "It's time for our yearly thunderstorm! Oh, I'm so excited! Now I can go home and curl up with a cup of tea and _The Shining_!"

"Excuse me, you can _what_?" Rufus asks in shock.

"_The Shining _is scariest with a thund—"

"No, I get _that_ _part_," he says with a shake of his head. "What I don't get is why you would _want_ to."

While Rufus and Jiya argue about movies and thunderstorms, lightning flashes. It's a rare enough occurrence that it sends murmurs across the restaurant. But Wyatt…

Wyatt _flinches_.

He tries to hide it, but he rarely flinches so Lucy picks up on it right away. It's not until then that she notices how rigid the arm around her waist has gotten. His fingers have wound themselves around one of the belt loops on her jeans and are squeezing so tightly that she's afraid the fabric will rend.

His mouth is set in a grim line and she can see the muscles in his jaw working. Is he...grinding his teeth?

Thunder rolls again and there's no mistaking the hitch in his breathing this time.

Her soldier doesn't like thunderstorms.

Lucy places a hand on his knee and gives it a comforting squeeze. His eyes meet hers and they look — well, _haunted_.

"_Doesn't like" _is probably an understatement.

Lucy decides it's time to go home.

"Well, we should probably head out," she says as she glances down at her phone. "Traffic is gonna get intense and panicked if we wait much longer."

"Good point," Rufus grumbles. "I hate driving in the rain as it is, add in people who don't know how to drive through wind and lightning and I'll end up hating my very existence."

Wyatt catches her hand as they leave and gives it a grateful squeeze. He drives them home but his hands have a white knuckle grip on the wheel the entire trip.

"You okay?" She asks once they're tucked safely inside their apartment.

"Just not a fan of thunderstorms," he says with a thick swallow as he sheds his jacket and shoes. "Never have been."

She tries to add a bit of levity to the situation by grinning flirtatiously at him as she stashes her umbrella by the door. "I'll protect you," she says. "Don't worry."

Just as she reaches to turn on the lights, lightning brightens up the dusk-lit apartment. Wyatt curses and then backs up to the nearest wall, pressing his back flatly against it. Lucy flips on the lights, kicks off her rain drenched heels, and heads right to him. Not even bothering to remove her damp coat.

"Okay, not the appropriate time to flirt," she says bringing her hands up to his shoulders. "I see that now."

"It's never _not_ the appropriate time to flirt, ma'am," he answers with closed eyes and the faintest upward turn of his lips.

She grins weakly at him and then runs a soothing touch over his neck and jaw. "Seriously, though, are you okay?"

He opens his eyes into hers. They look bluer than normal. More vulnerable and honest than she's seen them since that night in North Korea. There's an internal debate flitting through them before he answers her.

"Thunder and lightning reminds me of...well, _war_. No other way to put it. Something was always rumbling through the night and flashing in the distance. The place or the people changed. The sounds never did," he admits with a slow deliberate breath. "The, uh, Doc I saw when Christopher had me assigned to her team, said I should find something solid to lean against if I ever…you know, lost myself. Focus on my breathing. Remind myself what's real."

She takes in his back stiffly pressing into the wall and the purposeful rising and falling of his chest. She nods wordlessly, and then brings her eyes to his face.

He's observing her apprehensively as if he's afraid of her reaction.

"So, you plan to stand here all night?" She asks as thunder rumbles again.

"If it keeps me _here_ with you and not in some arid hell hole, yes," he replies as he takes a deep breath in through his nose.

She bites her bottom lip with worried eyes. "You can't sleep standing up, Wyatt."

He scoffs bitterly. "There won't be any sleeping tonight. Trust me."

"You were told to do this to remind yourself what's real? That's what you said right?" Lucy asks as she settles her hands on his waist. "You need something _solid_ and _real_?"

"Yes," he answers, wincing against a flash of lightning.

"You don't need a wall for that, Wyatt."

His eyes pop open and his gaze locks on hers, searching to understand her meaning. She wraps her fingers through a belt loop on each side of the waistband of his jeans and carefully draws him away from the wall. His hands stay flat against the wall even as the rest of him chases her movements.

She keeps her eyes sharply focused on his as she explains. "I'm _real_ and we're _solid_. Lean on _me_. Hold on to _me_."

There's a hitch in his breathing and she stills. His fingertips are barely touching the wall. Blue eyes bore into her brown ones as he weighs her words against the tension in his muscles. Suddenly, he launches himself off the wall with a loud exhale and coils himself around her.

She backs them toward the couch and leads him down on to it until her body is cuddled into his. Securely wedging him between her and a tall ridge of cushions. His arms wrap tightly around her back while he hides his face in her neck. Hers go around his wide shoulders, leaving one hand rubbing between his shoulder blades and the other carding through the short hair at the base of his neck. Lastly, He tangles his legs through hers, denim against denim. Every part of her is touching him.

Once they're situated a relieved sigh shudders through his entire body. He doesn't even seem to mind the wet coat she still hasn't discarded.

Tears spring to her eyes and her protective instincts, that she never knew she possessed until she met him, spark to life. He's a soldier. He's tough in ways she will never be and he's shielded her through century after century, war after war. He can protect himself. She _knows_ this.

But it doesn't stop her from wanting to tear apart the lives of anyone who ever hurt him — from wishing she could siphon off all of his trauma and take it on herself. He has a pure heart filled to the brim with care and concern for others, and the world has not repaid him in kind. Outrage on his behalf fills her from her head to her toes. She wants to fight the entire world for him.

Is it unreasonable to want to hold him like this for the rest of their lives? Or to want to keep him protected in the shelter of her arms, where she's _certain _nothing or no one will ever hurt him again?

The thunder rolls for the rest of the night. Lightning cracks through the blinds. Neither of them move. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, she realizes Wyatt's completely relaxed and breathing in a steady rhythm. Occasionally air puffs out of his lips, the way she knows it does when he's sleeping peacefully.

Satisfaction rolls over her along with his warm breath on her neck. He said he wouldn't be sleeping tonight and yet here he is asleep. Is it her presence that allows him to doze so serenely? She hopes so. She hopes she offers him the same safety that he offers her. An overwhelming sense of fulfillment slowly lulls her to sleep too.

In a dreamlike fog she realizes, this is where she was always meant to be — protecting Wyatt Logan from the skeletons in his closet. From the things that haunt him and go bump in the middle of a thunderstorm. From the ghosts that constantly moan and groan in the corners of his mind.

It's not _all_ she's meant to do but it's likely the _most_ _important_ thing she's meant to do. Always. Forever.

For _happily ever after_.

Rufus is going to say "I told you so" in his Best Man speech. She just knows it.

_Whenever_ that happens, that is.

She awakes, a mysterious amount of time later, to sunlight and kisses. Warm, soft lips are kissing and nibbling across her neck and sternum. Her coat has been unzipped and a pair of callused hands have slipped underneath it, kneading the stiff muscles on her back.

All while sunlight permeates through the blinds and puts a golden shimmer on an already well lit room.

She sighs contentedly and arches into the kisses as her hands find the back of the head currently laying a loving siege to her throat and chest.

"Good morning," she rasps, tugging gently on the hairs on the back of his head.

His answer is to shift one of the hands up her shirt until it dips under the wire of her bra. She gasps and bites down on her lip to hold in a whimper. He massages and pinches an already hard nipple.

The other hand fans out over her hip while his solid arm holds her flush against him. There's no wiggling out of his grip. Not that she would want to.

Finally, she hears a gravelly, "Good morning," rumbled against her skin.

His hands and arms break away from her to push her coat down her shoulders, and pull her shirt over her head. Both are dropped off the edge of the couch without another thought.

She should ask him how he's feeling, shouldn't she? They ended up sleeping on the couch for a reason.

But then the clasp of her bra opens and the straps go lax and she forgets anything else. Her jeans, underwear, and all of his clothes join the ever growing pile on the floor and then…

_Then_ his mouth closes around the same nipple he teased a few minutes ago. His hands wander while his lips and tongue play with her. Those calluses she loves so much stop over her stomach then drop to squeeze her ass. He props one of her legs over his waist. She expects him to move back up to be face to face with her again, but he surprises her.

She can't bite back the whimper this time as his fingers suddenly swirl around the already soaking nerve center between her legs. He works her for what feels like an eternity, building her up and then stopping to bring her back down.

She's desperate for him to take it a step further. Enough is enough. Just as she's about to break down and beg for him to finish her off, a finger slips inside her and curls. She shudders as he hits her most sensitive spot.

His mouth burns a northern trail between her breasts until it can latch on to her, just below the hinge of her jaw. The way he knows she likes. He sucks and licks and kisses in rhythm with his finger as it dips and curls in a repeating pattern.

Her grip around his shoulders tightens, nails digging into his skin. His thumb joins in and starts to massage her. She's breathing in staccato pants as she moves against his hand. One finger becomes two and then his hand abruptly retreats.

She pulls back to give him a reproachful glare but the glare never materializes. As she pulls back, she feels the hard already slick tip of him nudging her entrance.

"Oh, _fuck, _Wyatt," she breathes as she tries to push herself toward him.

His hands grip her hips, firmly stopping their undulating.

Their eyes meet. His pupils are blown with raw need but behind that she sees something else. Something deeper and more poignant, but she doesn't have much time to dwell on it. He thrusts, quick and hard, and drives all thoughts from her brain that aren't about their impending heated explosion.

The reason he dedicated so much time to working her up becomes clear. This isn't going to be slow and gentle. He's already halfway there and he wants her there too. At this point, all she can do is hold onto him for dear life.

The fact that he seems so lost in his lust for her only makes it better — urges her higher _faster_. He's close. His movements have gotten erratic and his breathing is as rapid as the pulse she feels in his neck. She's close too. Although, she thinks he may be ahead of her.

But, as if he senses her thoughts, he circles his hips causing her to moan and writhe against him. She sucks in a breath as the movement immediately rockets her toward the precipice. He withdraws from her completely and cool air fills the void for a moment before he's ramming back into her.

_That _does it. He hits her just _so_ and she's contracting around him in _seconds_.

She's falling over a treacherously steep cliff but there's no water or ground below her — only stars. Beautiful _burning_ stars.

Her senses find her again as Wyatt is shuddering into his release. He sags against her. Aftershocks keep a hold on them both. She seals her lips to his for several slow exploratory kisses, bringing the two of them back home.

"I love you," Wyatt tells her breathlessly as the kisses end. "Thank you for saving me, _again_, last night, ma'am. That wouldn't have been as easy as it was if you hadn't been here."

"My pleasure, Wyatt, really. It was nice feeling like I was protecting _you_ for a change," she admits, running her hands over his stubbled jaw.

"What are you talking about?" He asks. "You've done that since day one. I don't know if you've noticed but I have a few self destructive tendencies—"

She smirks and quirks a sarcastic brow at him. "No, you? _Never_."

"Okay, no need to be a smartass, Babydoll," he says with a chuckle. "You've done your part to protect me from those from that very first mission."

"To be fair, Sweetheart, I have my own self destructive tendencies. You're not alone. But I will always be there to protect you. Whether that's from yourself or someone who sets out to take advantage of _this_—" she stops and places her hands on his bare chest, just over his steadily beating heart. "—doesn't matter. I'm _your _first line of defense, Soldier. For as long as we live."

His smile reminds her of a cozy fire and a hot cup of tea. Comfort, warmth, safety. "As long as we live, huh?"

She nods and kisses the tip of his nose. "You're stuck with me. Hope that's okay."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he promises.

They're _not_ a fairy tale, but she has to admit Rufus's analogy got at least one thing right. Whatever the rest of their story is, she knows exactly how it will end.

..._And they lived happily ever after._

* * *

**A/N: **So this one had a situation prompt and two dialogue prompts.

Situation prompt: A thunderstorm is rolling through town and you're scared of lightening/thunder so I'll protect you.

Dialogue prompts:

"A fairytale with a happy ending always brings a smile to my face."

"I will always be there to protect you."


End file.
